


Everything

by PrinceH (amOrrtenttia)



Series: Sherlock BBC Collection [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:45:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amOrrtenttia/pseuds/PrinceH
Summary: Of course. She never knew.Johnlock / Parentlock.





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Todo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16058600) by [amOrrtenttia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amOrrtenttia/pseuds/amOrrtenttia). 



> **WARNING**. This fanfiction was wrote on spanish, and then translate by an not-native english speaker. Since I'm learning from TV, Internet and classes on school yet, I needed to say this before you read. The story may have -definitily- errors in the writting style, points of view, gramatic, and a large etc. I did as good as I could at the time, so _I hope you can read and still enjoy the fic beside of all that_. Thanks for check this, and please excuse any mistake LOL.

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Everything**

 

 

 

 

Lower the look the moment she felt observed. She is too embarrassed to face that blue eyes, so similar to her own, those whom seek a nonverbal explanation to put an end to the sudden curiosity her behavior caused.

Things have gone too far. Jamie knows it very well. She has made a terrible mistake by disappearing like that.

"  _If father asks ... The hormones are the one to blame_ " she said to herself, not very sure.

Pathetic. That was. A pathetic attempt to mitigate the guilt she feels.

Her age has not been a determining factor in her attitude before, much less it is now.

It was an act of sincere stupidity.

The silence in the room continues until, minutes later (it could have been hours, none was really sure), the door downstairs closed after a thumping bang.

She looked worriedly in that direction.

She was screwed.

Totally.

The doctor's dark aura freezes her blood. And she shuns her gaze as soon as the brown eyes fall on his person.

— So it's true — John mentions with a death tone that alerts the detective, looks at his partner with a clear warning sign in their orbs, the other ignores him.

— James ... Go to your room — order with impassive voice.

It is the first sentence that he has addressed since she returned after her escape on the weekend. And Jamie almost thanks it.

Almost.

His father sounded worried as he rarely did. As    _those_    times when she fucks things up. John Watson was furious, like every time the brunette made such a stupid mistake.

Hurt some class boy. Exploit some laboratory experiment. Disappear for hours without leaving a trace that his uncle Mike could continue ... Leaving for a weekend without giving any explanation

.. And more specifically ...    _Go see her._

She does not need to look or hear anything else. She stands up and walks at a rapid pace to what, in the past, would have been the doctor's room.

— Sherlock ... — she hears the blond warns, and she trembles imperceptibly.

Oh she had screwed up big time again.

Squeeze the lips as a heated discussion goes through the walls of the 221B.

"  _—_   _You must stop pampering her like that ..._

 _—_   _Oh, please_ , _she knows how to take care of herself._

 _—_   _You know it's not about that._

 _—_   _John_   _You cannot expect from me to decide for her all the time._

 _—_   _She’s just a girl._

 _—_   _She is 18 years old._   _She is aware of what she does by this point..._

 _—_   _You spent two whole days without sleep waiting for her ..._

 _—_   _That was my own decision._

 _—_   _Only admit that you were worried, Sherlock._   _I do not understand why you keep denying it ...  You are afraid of it… That she spends time with her._

 _—_   _John, she is her mother._   _And it was you who suggested that she should spend more time with her, in case you decided to forget it. "_

Jamie sighs. Look at her reflection in the mirror of the door that now remains closed. Those eyes, those curls ... She's so similar to her father ... But her smooth skin, her pale tone ... And the shape of her face ...

It is identical to her.

Stop listening to them at some point. She does not want to know anything else. It hurt. It hurts a lot.

Because she fears being the cause of separation of them.

Because although he never dared to call it that, John is also his father.

Listen to a thud, and it pales.

It sharpens the ear.

— Do not you dare repeat it... Never. Never in your life.

That broken voice, full of bitterness.

The voice of his father.

A tear runs down the girl's cheek as she imagines the reddish stain on the doctor's face.

She did not need to listen to know exactly what had happened.

It was that stupid barrier again.

_The blood._

James Elizabeth Holmes was the first-born (and only daughter, actually) of the consulting detective, one that he had with the only woman he ever cared of.

Jamie was surrendered to him after his mother decided to seek a new life under a new name, leaving behind his own.

Irene Adler.

James had come to his father's life when he was already a little older, perhaps at a bad time, really.

His mother repeated to Jamie countless times that the man with whom his father shared a roof was just that.

And that she should never see it as something else.

Then the barrier formed between them.

John H. Watson, who found sweetness in the little one, went away little by little from her when feeling the mute rejection.

He helped her to where he thought it was right, and moved away as soon as he thought it necessary.

One afternoon, days before her 17th birthday, a call aroused the youngest woman interest.

A voice that she did not think she heard ever again.

Then she doubted if she should go with her.

Hear from her.

See her.

Even his father was doubtful about the possibility of losing her, even though he never said it in words.

Sherlock Holmes was scared of _her_.

Then Watson told her to go.

Because it was the right thing to do.

Irene loved her as much as Sherlock did.

So she did.

Not once, but several times.

Little Holmes, who never spent more than a few hours outside, began to be absent at home more and more.

She did not understand why John got so mad about it. Until one day he confronted her.

She was leaving them for days, two weeks had pass so fast.

— Your father has not stuck his eye in days, James ... And neither have I. Where the hell have you gotten? Who have you been with? Because I swear if you have anything to do with drugs, I ...

— I went to see mom.

She never thought that that single prayer would break years of tranquility.

Balance.

Because Watson despite her mother more than anything in his life. And the reason was simple.

She was able to give Sherlock something he could never ...    _A family._

It wasn’t James fault at all.

But that was something Jamie did not know.

It was something she would never hear about.

She assumed wrong.

She always thought it was all her fault.

She did not know that, in reality, John never came to hate her as she believed, on the contrary, he loved her.

She never found out that John loved her as much or more than her own father did.

John Watson loved her way more than any other person in the world.

She never knew how many times he was the one waiting for him awake while Sherlock (literally) surrendered to exhaustion.

She could never understand that the hatred towards his mother was, in truth, sincere envy.

It was not because she gave Sherlock one child.

It was because James was the perfect child.

Beautiful.

Smart.

She was his world.

She was **their** whole world.

She didn’t see it… That she was **_everything_** for both of them. They loved her so much.

The only daughter they never asked for, but life give them.

Only for a brief moment.

She should have known… But she didn’t and that’s on her.

She made her choice.

Jamie never heard when John H. Watson banged open the door of the room, only to fall on his knees before her.

She did not feel how the blonde's arms surrounded her until he cradled her in his chest, where she spent countless nights in fear as a kid. Nights that both remembered.

She did not feel the warm tears falling on her cold body.

Much less did she hear the heartrending cries of a father who, at the moment, realized that he had lost the one he always considered his daughter. One he never called like that because he feared so much losing her for it.

By the time Sherlock reached them, just seconds later, the doctor's eyes had exhausted the last drop.

Both cried in silence for more hours than time can measure.

Both feel the pain of their greatest lost.

Everything was their fault.

Because the only note left of her was written in blood, which escaped from her wrists and stained the floor where it spread to reach the door.

"I'm sorry ... For not being what you expected ... _Parents_ "

Of course. She never knew.

.

.

. 

 


End file.
